


Flowers Blooming in Ashes

by Coyote Laughing Softly (BitterNovember)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-07
Updated: 2016-07-07
Packaged: 2018-07-22 03:05:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7417162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BitterNovember/pseuds/Coyote%20Laughing%20Softly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The war is over, and Ron and Hermione are taking the first steps to grow into a relationship amidst the rubble, learning to lean on one another for strength, and to stand up for what they want. Sometimes, the most beautiful blooms spring from the ashes.</p>
<p>This is a one shot prequel to my upcoming fic, A Quiet Mind, but can stand alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Flowers Blooming in Ashes

**A.N. I've been sitting on this like a hen with an egg for a little over a year, but now that I'm starting on my new multichapter, I wanted to post something somewhere to show the contrast between how Ron was handling things right after the war, and how he is doing nearly three years later. (And yes, for those wondering, I am planning on transferring my other fic, To Know You is to Love You, over here completely. It's just an immense pain to get it all formatted!)**

 

Five stories down, the family clock was ticking. Tick, tick, ticking away, minus one spoon, which seemed to throw the whole rhythm off. Mercifully, the noise was muted up here in his tiny room, the brightly painted orange walls doing their best to block out the sound by assaulting another sense. Ron stared at the rough wood of the ceiling, concentrating on his own breaths. The sound of the clock had once been comforting, but now it was excruciating. Throughout his childhood, it had measured the time between meals, the countdown to Christmas, the minutes leading up to the return trip to Hogwarts.

 

Now it only measured the time that had passed since Fred’s death.

 

His breath hitched, and he counted to ten slowly before letting it out. It wasn’t that he was trying to be stoic; in fact, he had bawled this past fortnight more than he thought he had in his entire life. But his eyes were raw, the tears dried up, and another round was only going to do more damage. Besides, Harry, over on the camp bed, was just beginning to lose that guilty hangdog look that he had been wearing since they had arrived at the Burrow after the Battle. 

 

Battle. Now there was a funny word. It had sounded like such a grand and exciting thing when he had been a child; now, it was small and brittle, gold paint covering cheap tin. Hardly a fit description for the hell they had been through. And felt like they were still going through, if truth be told. It seemed as if they got finished with one funeral in time to be off to another one. When they weren’t out to join others in mourning, they were busy doing their own. Fred’s death had struck the family hard, and they were still reeling, each trying in their own way to come to terms as best they could. 

And every time they stuck their heads out, reporters were hounding them with questions. Ron wasn’t used to that much attention, and quickly found that he didn’t much care for it. They wanted to dig right into the cracks of his brain, and dredge up each precious little personal thought that even he hadn’t worked through yet. It was ridiculous, but last time, he had caught himself slumping down to hide behind Hermione.

 

Thank Merlin for Hermione. She was the one bright thing he had in the middle of all this miserable shite; without her, he would’ve climbed into his bed and refused to come out. Most days he still felt that way, but she gave him a reason to push through it. In fact, since that very first kiss, they had rarely been apart. The first two days had been spent answering questions and fighting the paralyzing numbness that threatened to swallow him. It gave him a sick, dizzy feeling, but every time he felt like he was about to float out of his body, the feel of her hand in his anchored him to the spot. Their eyes would meet every so often, each searching for the answer to the question that was on both of their minds. They hadn’t found a moment to be alone until after dinner on the second day, when everyone else was resting, and they had slipped outside, going to the far end of the garden behind the small row of leaning wooden outbuildings. The memory made Ron smile, and since Harry looked to be about half asleep, he took his time to relive it.

 

 

They were both still sitting at the kitchen table, lingering over the few drops of tea left in their mugs. his parents had gone to their room, both of them pale faced and haggard looking. Bill, Charlie, and Percy were in the den, all three keeping an eye on a still silent George, who kept looking to his side and blinking in confusion, as if remembering all over again that there would always be a vacant spot to his left. Harry and Ginny were in the corner, having what looked to be an interesting conversation. Ron glanced up to find Hermione watching him, and he darted his eyes in the direction of the door, lifting his eyebrows. She gave a tiny nod, and they both stood, taking their mugs and rinsing them in the sink before quietly exiting the house.

 

Their hands drifted together, as was already becoming habit, and they silently set out to the back of the garden, bypassing the sheds and chicken coop. He kept his eyes averted from the makeshift Quidditch pitch, not wanting to be reminded of happier times during his childhood. He would think of that later, when he had the time to cry. Right now, he wanted to get something settled before he got his hopes too high; The signs were all pointing in the direction of Hermione sharing his feelings, but if he kept going and found it was only a mix of momentary adrenaline and subsequent sympathy on her part, he would be crushed more than he thought he could stand right now.

 

Hermione was having similar thoughts. After all, she had been the one to initiate the kiss, and while Ron had been enthusiastic, she needed to know it was more than a snog. He didn’t give that impression, with the way he would look at her, the way his hand would seek hers out, or the way his mouth would open as if he wanted to say something important until someone would invariably interrupt them. There was also the feeling of guilt; Fred hadn’t even been buried yet, and she felt bad for taking Ron’s attention from that. No matter what course they decided on, she needed to remember that her main goal in staying here was to support Ron and his family during this initial period of grief. Mrs. Weasley was a hair’s breadth away from a complete breakdown, and Hermione knew she was only holding herself until the funeral. Fleur had stepped in, taking over where needed, and Hermione was helping when she could, to take some of the strain from the rest of the family. 

 

The loss they had suffered was heavy and cruel; Fred was one of those people that you never thought of dying. Although not nearly as close as Harry and Ron, she had known him ever since she came to this world, and despite his clowning and her nagging, they were friends. Not the first person either would call on, maybe, but his death was still hard to take. And she hated seeing what it was doing to the family, and to Ron. She would catch him staring off at certain spots around the house, and then flinching away. The memories here must be enough to choke him, but aside from that first evening, he hadn’t allowed himself a good cry.

 

“Hermione? Is something wrong?”

 

Startled, she looked up into his worried blue eyes, realizing what her expression must look like. Holding his hand tighter, she shook her head. “Nothing. My mind wandered away from me.”

 

Ron raised his eyebrows, not completely buying that. “Hermione, I think you’d notice if something that large just wandered off.”

 

She laughed, not because it was particularly funny, but because that was exactly the kind of thing he had said so often before, in happier times. She need the reminder of those times, some shred of hope that happiness was still there to be had.

 

They were beyond the sight of the Burrow now, and a sudden awkwardness overcame them. The air was chilly, and Hermione shivered, still too thin to brush off the cold easily. Ron, not much better, noticed, and hastily used his wand to Transfigure a pile of rotten leaves into a blanket. He spread it out beside the shed, sat down, and motioned for Hermione to join him. She eased herself down, her joints still aching from their ordeal, the cold that had seeped into her bones making her wince. 

 

Ron stared down at his hands, which were lying in a useless pile in his lap, pale white sticks all jumbled together. A slightly darker, much smaller one joined them, and he let out a ragged breath, tongue darting out to lick his lips nervously.

 

“I guess we have some stuff to talk about, yeah?”

 

He was hopeful that she would get things started, but she merely nodded at him, her eyes wide and expectant. Damn. The one time he wanted her to go into one of her long, one-sided discussions, and she acted as if Crookshanks had stolen her tongue. He would have to be the one to start, which, now that he thought about it, was only fair; she had taken the risk with the snog.

 

“Hermione.....I....no. Let me start over. What I meant to say is that.....no, that’s not right, either.”

He threw his head back in frustration, his hands shooting up to drag through his hair, scraping along his scalp. Words had never really been his strong point, at least when they came to something like this. But he couldn’t leave things hanging.

 

“Sht. Shit, shit, shit. We shouldn’t be talking about this. I shouldn’t have to say this.”

 

His eyes were still squeezed shut, and he missed the look of disappointment that was on Hermione’s face. She was torn; she knew that now was probably the worst time possible to go into all this, but she needed to know, once and for all, straight out where they stood. 

 

“I should’ve said it all a long time ago. After the Ball, sometime that summer.....hell, all through fifth year, I was trying to get my nerve up. Then....well, sixth year was utter shite, but there were times near the end where I could’ve....even when we were on the run.....fuck. I love you, alright? Have for years, just never thought you’d want a prat like me. But then you kissed me, and....look, if it was just, one of those weird, only-happens-once things, tell me know now so I don’t go on hoping and making an even bigger fool out of myself--”

 

He was cut off as Hermione shifted around in front of him, her hands taking his face and forcing him to look at her. She was shaking so hard, he was afraid she was going to be sick again, like she had been at Bill’s. Her eyes were full of tears, but she had that blazing, determined look she got right before she did something important.

 

“I’ve made a lot of mistakes concerning you over the years, Ron Weasley, but that kiss was not one of them! That was just the first step in the right direction.”

 

He didn’t know what to say, so he didn’t even try. Instead, he wrapped his hands around her arms and pulled her in, pleased when her hands slid down his neck the cup the back of his head, their lips coming together in a much slower version of their first kiss. This one was soft, at first, lips melding together briefly, then drawing back, tiny pauses before diving back in. Every time they met, it became more heated, and neither could have told you whose tongue darted into the other’s mouth first. Hands slid across the rough fabric of jackets, down patches of exposed skin, tangling into hair. Ron released a moan into her mouth, and nearly growled when she let out a whimper. Somehow, she had managed to straddle his lap, and the feel of her thighs around his waist had him harder than the rocky ground he was sitting on. 

 

When she pulled back, both of them were panting, and he had to concentrate to get his eyes to focus. Merlin, what a sight! Her hair was everywhere, her cheeks flushed with more color than they had had in a long time, her lips swollen and still wet. Her eyes were dark, and the look there had him reaching to pull her back, but she shook her head. 

 

Hermione took his hand at his dejected look. “We should go in soon, and I think both of us need a few minutes to....cool down. It’s a little obvious what we’ve been up to.”

 

Ron grinned, quite liking the idea of being ‘up to something’ with Hermione. She lifted herself off his lap, and cuddled into his side, and he stretched his arm around her shoulders, pulling her closer. Both of them sighed happily, and laughed.

 

He knew they had to go in, but he wanted this to last just a few minutes longer. He knew that once they stepped through that door, the grief would come crashing down on them again, and he needed this breath of air before he went under.

 

“Hermione?”

 

“Hm?”

 

“Thanks. For staying here, I mean. I know you want to be off to get your parents, but.....I don’t know how I’d get on without you.”

 

Hermione shivered, but it had nothing to do with the cold. “I’m being a bit selfish as well. After everything that’s happened, I needed to be close for awhile. But in a few days, when things settle down, I’ll figure out where I need to go first.” 

 

The thought terrified her. She knew she was in no fit mental state (or physical for that matter) to be doing something this large and emotional by herself. She wasn’t sure of her parents exact location, as she hadn’t wanted to give it away if she had been captured, and she had no real idea of how they would react once she found them and set things right. She was so, so tired, tired of holding herself and everything around her together. If they reacted badly, and she had nowhere to turn, she didn’t know how she would handle it.

 

“Where _we_ need to go first. I think you meant to say _we.”_

She got a hunk of hair pinched behind her shoulder as she twisted her neck to look at him. He was serious. The offer was sweet and wonderful and Merlin she needed it, but she couldn’t let him do that.

 

“Ron, that’s a wonderful offer, and please don’t take this the wrong way, because I would love nothing more than for you to go with me. But you can’t.....your family needs you, and I can’t be selfish and take you away from them.”

 

She searched his eyes, afraid to find hurt there. Things were new between them, and she didn’t want this to lead to a fight. There was a fair amount of stubbornness and determination, but no sign of anger or hurt. 

 

Ron knew he had to go about this the right way; he needed to get his meaning across without looking like he was forcing himself on her. “First of all, there’s nothing wrong with being selfish once and awhile. You haven’t had a chance since the moment we Apparated from the wedding, and you’re nearly burnt out. It’s time to let someone else do the giving for a change. Besides, this isn’t even being selfish. You can’t just leave your parents, but you’re in no shape to go alone. Hell, neither of us are. And I wasn’t meaning we should head out tomorrow, or even this weekend. I couldn’t do that. There’s still.....Fred. But afterwards, when the circles under our eyes aren’t stretched to our chins, we can go. My family will be fine without me for a little bit, there’s enough of them to hold each other up,” he paused, memories assaulting him, prompting him to blurt, “I wasn’t there when you needed me before, dammit! Don’t ask me to do that again.”

 

There was sincerity and and regret in his voice, and a thousand promises in his eyes; Hermione looked away, knowing that there was no way she could refuse him. He was right. Most of the time, she felt as if Dementors had sucked part of her soul away. She was tired of being the responsible one, the one who always had a plan. She was still.....not right after Malfoy Manor, and the thought of being alone that far from home with no one she could trust made her sick. 

 

“Alright. They should be perfectly safe until things settle down here, and I suppose it would be better if I looked somewhat healthier before I show up on their doorstep. Otherwise, they might not even let me in.”

 

Mentally, he heaved a sigh of relief, hugging her closer. “Good. To be honest, I thought it would be a lot harder to convince you. The Weasley Charm must finally be kicking in.”

 

Hermione snorted into his shoulder. “Trust me, it kicked in years ago. You’re just getting better at using it.” She pulled back and cocked an eyebrow at him. “Just be careful who you go around using it on. You’re taken, and I think we already know that I don’t handle jealousy well.”

 

“Noted. The charm will be directed towards you exclusively.”

 

He leaned in to brush his lips over hers, still thrilled that he was now allowed to do so. And not only was he allowed, but she was a more than willing participant. They were headed for what looked to be an intense snogging session, when they felt the first fat drops of rain on their heads. Reluctantly, they stood, quickly walking back to the Burrow as the sky darkened overhead. At the door, Ron paused. The happiness of the moment was already fading as the grief rose up within him once again, and he knew it would only get worse. Then Hermione squeezed his hand, and he knew that even if it did, then at least he wouldn’t have to deal with it alone.

 

 

And he hadn’t. Hermione had been fantastic, even when he had been a sniveling, wet mass of ginger. She had stayed at his side, holding his hand in public, and had cuddled him like Crookshanks when he cried into her lap in the privacy of his room. She had wiped the salty tears from his cheeks, and comforted him with gentle kisses. And then not so gentle kisses; chaste lip-to-lip contact soon lead to nibbling and licking, sucking and biting. Wandering hands, which at first kept strictly to safe areas, began exploring more adventurously, diving under clothes, stroking heated flesh. Each session became more daring, until two days ago, on this very blessed bed which he was sure he was going to keep for the rest of his life to commemorate the event, they--

 

“Hands on top of the blankets, Ron.”

 

Ron yelped and sat up at the weary voice of his friend, flushing guiltily at his look of amused disgust.

 

“I wasn’t doing anything, honest!”

 

“Mhmm. And I would really, really like to keep it that way. But it’s bad enough when Hermione’s around; I don’t want people hearing you moaning in here with me and have them get the wrong idea.”

 

“Fuck you, Harry.”

 

“Now see, that’s exactly the kind of thing that starts rumors--”

 

Loud voices from downstairs could be heard, and Harry trailed off as he strained to make out what was being said. Ron swung his legs over the edge of the bed, purple and green socked feet hitting the floor with a slap. Dinner was less than two hours ago, so there shouldn’t be any yelling, unless George was having one of his spells again. He stared at the floor, waiting for another sound, wishing that he could have gone on talking to Harry; It was nice to have a conversation with him without that damned apologetic look in his eyes. 

 

Small feet thumped up the set of stairs below them, not slowing down as they neared his door. Ron stood, beginning to worry. The door was flung open by a pale and wide eyed Ginny, who seemed nearly speechless, which could mean nothing good. Everything that could go wrong, whether realistic or not, ran through his head. There were more Death Eaters on the attack. George had finally snapped. Hermione--where was Hermione? She should have been sitting up here with them!

 

Ginny finally found her voice. “You need to come down. Mum and Hermione--they, they had a sort of fight, I guess, I’m not sure what it was really, and Hermione’s gone. You need to come _NOW.”_

 

His eyes found Harry’s, held them for the briefest of moments as he caught the glimmer of his own panic echoing in green eyes, before they both sprinted for the stairs. Ron had longer legs and stronger motivation, and he practically flew downstairs and into the kitchen where the voices had been earlier, the other two barreling along behind him, the vibrations shaking the crockery on the shelves. Molly was alone in the kitchen, her face flushed as she slammed dishes into the cabinets. Her jaw was set, her mouth pulled into a thin, angry line. Her hair hung limply down her back, and even from across the room, you could see her hands were shaking. Ron searched the room, but there was no sign of Hermione, and he couldn’t understand it. What was there she could possibly fight with Mum about? And why hadn’t she come to him? The reality that she had left him behind sent cold chills dancing up and down his spine.

 

“Mum? What happened? Where’s Hermione?” He finally asked. 

 

Molly glanced at him over her shoulder. “I don’t know why everyone is making such a fuss. I told Hermione that I thought it was more than time for her to go home to her parents, and although she tried to put me off, she agreed. I’m sure you’ll see her soon enough. Merlin knows you’ll be sneaking off behind my back to do it, but I suppose that’s no different from what you’ve been doing lately.”

 

Ron reared back, unused to the level of bitterness and anger coming from his mother. She never acted like this! And she would never ask a guest to leave their house, especially one she liked as much as Hermione. He knew Fred’s death had shaken her badly, but he didn’t realize the extent of it. However, anger soon replaced shock. His mum had no idea about Hermione’s parents, or everything she had been through, and the thought of her being kicked out like that while she was trying to help even though she was in pain of her own made him furious. The accusation of sneaking around made it seem like what they were doing was sordid, and it wasn’t. Yeah, there was a fair amount of randiness, that was only natural; but there was love and comfort and a closeness they both needed to get through this shitstorm of darkness they had been fighting for years.

 

He fisted his hands, knucklebones nearly popping through whitened skin. He turned to face the others, both of them staring back at him anxiously, waiting for him to make the first move. Things needed to be fixed and they needed to be fixed _now._ His strongest urge was to go after Hermione himself, but it wouldn’t do any good to bring her back while Mum was like this. It was time they had a talk.

 

“Harry? Could you....?”

 

Harry nodded. “Yeah. Really only two places she’d be right now, I think. It may take me a bit to convince her. You.....go ahead and take care of things here.”

 

With a pop, Harry was gone, and he motioned for Ginny to leave them in the kitchen. Laying a hand on his arm, she mouthed, ‘Are you sure?’ When he nodded, she gave him a squeeze, leaving reluctantly. The support was nice, but this needed to happen without witnesses, and Ginny would end up getting drawn into it herself; this was his fight, not hers.

 

Struggling to keep his temper under control, he stalked over and sat at the table, pouring himself a mug of tea out of habit. He stared into the brown depths, unsure where to begin. His hands tightened around the burnt orange mug, and his eyes flickered to the left, noticing that a potholder had been placed over the spot where Fred had carved his initials when he was seven.

 

His mum continued to act as if nothing had happened, until he couldn’t take it anymore.

 

“Sit down, Mum.” His voice was soft, but there was something in the tone that made her pause before starting to wipe down the silver.

 

“Mum, I have something to say, and you’re going to listen, so _please sit down in the bloody chair!”_

 

Molly flung the silverware into the sink, whipping around to glare at him. “Don’t you dare swear at me, young man! I won’t have it!”

 

“I wouldn’t have to swear if you’d pay attention to what I’m saying in the first place!”

 

Her mouth snapped shut, and with her back ramrod straight, she marched over to the chair in front of him.

 

She waited expectantly, her eyes flashing with more life than they had in weeks, almost looking like she was itching for a fight. She probably was; Ron shared her temper, and knew he was prone to do the same thing. He pushed his mug away, knowing that the tea would do nothing for the tight, dry lump lodged in his throat.

 

He spoke quietly, in a slow, measured tone, tight with anger. “I was just wondering if you’re happy. All my life, it’s been one thing after another. Always the hand-me-downs, always the ugly cast-offs that no one wants. Corned beef sandwiches when you know they make me gag. Maroon jumpers every year, even though I always tell you that I hate that color. So I guess it’s no surprise that when I finally, after years of mucking things up and thinking it’s hopeless, get the girl I’ve always wanted, that has to be taken away from me too. The one thing to bring me any happiness when I really need it, and you run her off. If it’s your goal to make me miserable, then congratulations, you’ve reached it.”

 

He knew he was being bitter and unfair, but he couldn’t take this right now. This wasn’t the time to bring up things from his childhood, however. There were more important things to talk about, and he wasn’t going to argue about the color of his jumpers when Hermione needed his help.

 

“You let Harry stay, so why not her?” He finally asked, wanting at least an explanation before things got out of hand.

 

Molly crossed her arms defiantly, not letting him see that his words had hurt. “Of course Harry is staying. Where else could he possibly go? It was very nice of Hermione to visit, I’m sure; even if her motives were....less than altruistic. But she needs to be with her family, not skulking about with you, getting up to Merlin knows what.”

 

Behind his mother, his dad came up to stand in the doorway, motioning for Ron not to mention he was there. Ginny must have gotten him, smart girl that she was. He was the only one that could ever get Mum to calm down. Ron didn’t look at him long, but was startled all over again by how much his father seemed to have aged. He wasn’t wearing his glasses, and that had always made him look younger in the past; now, his eyes had a deep sadness, his body bent as if it was under some enormous weight; even his hair wasn’t quite as red as it was before they had left. Ron didn’t know if it was from the events of the past year or his brother’s death. All he knew was that his father was becoming an old man before his time.

 

His mum was just as bad, so he forced himself to remain civil. “Mum, you don’t understand! She had to stay here--”

 

“Understand? Understand! How could _you_ possibly understand? You’re still a child yourself; you have _no idea_ what it’s like for a parent to know their child is in danger, the need to have them safe at home where you can protect them, to see with your own eyes that they’re alright! Hermione has always been such a good girl, and she should know that her place is with--”

 

Ron slammed his palms on the table, finally having enough. “I understand more than you give me credit for! And so does Hermione! Do you think she’s here on some kind of holiday? Have you even wondered _why_ she hasn’t gone home at least once? Well, Mum, maybe it’s because _you’re_ the one who doesn’t bloody _understand!”_ He saw her open her mouth, but he pressed on. “I’ll say it plain; Hermione doesn’t have any parents. At least, no one that knows they’re her parents, which is the same. To keep them safe while we were gone, she erased their memories, gave them new names, and sent them to Australia. Don’t you think she’s been worried? She wants her parents back, but she’s stayed here for me, because she knows that most of the time, she’s all that’s holding me together!”

 

Molly had let out a strangled sound, her angry expression changing briefly to one of horror before she went on the attack.

 

“That’s horrible! How could she do that to her own parents! _They had a right to know!_ She never should have left them!” Her voice climbed in volume, the veins in her neck dark under the stark whiteness of her skin.

 

“We would have died without her! _We would have died!_ You’re right, she should’ve stayed home where she was safe. I should’ve been with the rest of you. Harry should have his own family with him. And Fred....he....” He broke off, choking on a sob, “There’s a big difference between the way things _should_ be and the way they _are,_ Mum. Even if you think I don’t understand, I at least understand that much.”

 

Molly opened her mouth to speak, then closed it again, the throbbing pain in her head intensifying. Ever since that awful night, she had felt as if she was viewing the world from the bottom of a deep, black lake. This wasn’t the first time she had been there, but she had done everything in her power not to live through this again. Years ago, the death of her brothers nearly broke her. They had lit up her world with their smiles, and had left her in darkness when those lights had been snuffed out, long, long before their time. That they had died fighting for a worthy cause was a cold comfort; an honorable death wasn’t something that teased you about that one wild curl that would never lay straight, and it couldn’t dance with you on your wedding day.

 

She had sworn, when Bill had been born, that her children would never know that kind of pain. She would raise them to be safe; she would grow old with them around her. It was clear that in some ways, they resented her; thought she smothered them. Maybe she did. That was fine. As long as they were safe and alive and well enough to complain, she would be as overbearing as she had to be. And now....now it was all for nothing. One of her children was beyond her reach, and she couldn’t protect him anymore. The twins had always given her a bittersweet pain; so much like her brothers that she had been frightened. She had even given them the names of their uncles to them for middle names, and had lain awake many sleepless nights, wondering if she had doomed them in doing so. Doomed Fred to an early grave, and George to a lifetime living without his other half. She would do anything to change that. Anything to keep her family whole.

 

She had killed.

 

It had sickened her. She didn’t regret it for a moment, and if she had to do it over again, she wouldn’t hesitate to save her daughter. But she had dedicated herself to life and family long ago, and she hated the woman all the more for tainting her with taking a human life. She was a mother; she was supposed to bring life into the world and nurture it until it could go out on its own, to be a place of warmth and safety they could always return to. But she had lost one child, and neither heaven nor hell would stand in her way of saving another.

 

Losing one son was hard enough, but as she sat there, she realized she had lost another as well. Where was the little boy she used to scold for sneaking biscuits? The man who sat in front of her was a stranger with her baby’s face. His eyes were dark and heavy, showing a glimpse of burdens he never should have been made to bear, or, if he did, then they shouldn’t have happened while he was still supposed to be enjoying being a child. Shouldn’t. But he was right when he said there was a difference in the way things should be and the way things are. It made her angry; she wanted to tell him to march up to his room, and not to come down until he was ten years old again. But it was too late for that. As much as she wished, he was never going to be that child again. Whatever he had done, whatever he had seen while he had been gone, was something that all the magic in the world couldn’t erase. The only thing she could do now was try to reign in her grief back long enough so that she didn’t push him away for good, because she sensed that this was more important than she had first thought.

“You should have told me straight away that she had nowhere to go, Ron. I wouldn’t have.....well, I never would have asked her to leave. You know that.” A thought struck her. “Ron! You need to go bring her back; I wanted her to be with her family, not off on her own!”

 

Ron eased back in his chair. His mum was still not herself, but she seemed alright enough that Hermione should be able to come back without getting into a row. “Harry went to get her. It might take awhile; She can be as stubborn as I am.”

 

"Well, if they aren’t back shortly, I want you to go after her and tell her that she’s welcome here until her parents return.”

 

Oh. Yeah. He should probably get that out of the way, too. “Um, actually, Hermione has to remove the spell herself. We still haven’t decided when we were leaving.”

Part of him hoped that bit of information would slip by her. Part of him hoped she would be feeling guilty enough about what she had said to Hermione that she would let him go without a fuss. But the rest of him knew his mum, and he braced himself, waiting for the explosion.

 

“What do you mean, _we?_ Ronald Weasley, if you think I’m letting the pair of you run off on your own, THEN YOU CAN JUST THINK AGAIN!”

 

Molly had pushed herself up in her seat until she was stretched halfway across the worn wooden table; the thought of Ron going off this soon terrified her, and she knew good and well that things between the young couple wouldn’t remain innocent. 

 

“Mum, I have to, and I’m going to, whether you like it or not!” 

 

Arthur seemed to decide that now was the time for him to step in. He came up behind his wife, taking her gently by the shoulders. “Sit down, Molly. Let’s at least hear the boy out.”

 

Ron shot his dad a grateful look, and took a steadying breath. At least with him there, he had a chance of convincing her. The three of them sat in silence; Ron, marshalling his thoughts, Arthur, expectantly, and Molly stubbornly, waiting to get this over with so she could tell Ron in no uncertain terms was he leaving the safety of the Burrow. But patience had never been her strong suit, so she struck first.

 

“There is absolutely no reason why you have to. Your father, or even Bill, could go with her. Or we could contact the Ministry; I’m sure one of the departments could deal with this.”

 

“I don’t care who else goes, you can take that up with Hermione. But I have to go with her. You don’t....you can’t understand. I messed up while we were gone. Messed up bad. Didn’t mean to, but that doesn’t change anything. I wasn’t there for her when she needed me. I know, she had Harry, but sometimes that was like being alone anyway. And then....I couldn’t save her. She’s still sick and hurting, and even though I was there I couldn’t do a damn thing about it! Do you have any idea what that’s like? To watch while...” he choked up, the memories making his vision go black for a moment as he relived the horror of Malfoy Manor. “But they can’t hurt her anymore. They can’t hurt anyone.”

He had to remind himself of that; Hermione was safe. Every night, he told himself that. And every time he woke up screaming, he told himself again. Even now, he could feel it becoming difficult to breathe just thinking about it. But something in his voice must have frightened his parents.

 

“Ron, what do you mean? We know you haven’t told us everything, but if someone hurt Hermione....You said they can’t hurt anyone. You didn’t....you didn’t have anything to do with that, did you?” Arthur asked quietly. He wouldn’t blame his son; Ron wasn’t a cold-blooded killer, but he knew that he was fiercely protective of the ones he loved. And he was certain that his feelings for Hermione had finally settled into what had been developing for years. But that was a burden he shouldn’t have to handle alone, and they needed to know if he needed help.

 

“No. Mum did.” His voice broke, and his eyes pleaded with them to understand what he couldn’t tell them; it wasn’t his place. And even if it was, he didn’t think he could talk about it. Just mentioning it this much had him feeling sick and lightheaded. 

 

Molly moaned, and Arthur took her hand, his jaw clenching. They both knew exactly what Bellatrix Lestrange was capable of. It was nothing short of a miracle that Hermione was alive and sane. 

 

“But why does it have to be you?” Molly asked weakly, some of the fight going out of her. She had met Frank and Alice when they were younger, and she had seen what was left at St. Mungo’s. 

 

“Because things can’t be like they were before. Both of us have to make some changes, and I plan on starting as I mean to finish, and that means being there for her when she needs me.”

 

“Ron, I understand you have feelings for her, but you’re talking as if you were going to marry her!”

 

He rubbed at his eyes, colors dancing across the blackness of his closed lids. In for a Knut, in for a Galleon.

 

“Well, not any time soon, obviously. But yeah, eventually, that’s the plan.”

 

“That’s absurd!” Molly snapped, fire back in her eyes. “I know what’s been going on, don’t think for one second that I don’t, but that’s no good reason to do something so foolish!”

 

Ron felt his lips pull back in a snarl. “Not everything is about shagging, Mum! I know you’ve been too busy to notice, and I understand, but the rest of us are hurting too! And you know what? Hermione’s there for me. She’s the only thing that pushes the dark away, and I’m not going to sit back and let you make her feel guilty about it! She’s put off going after her folks so she could stay here and help me, help _you,_ so don’t you talk about her in that tone of voice!”

 

“What else am I supposed to think? You’re always slipping off with her every chance you get! You say you’re grieving; then grieve with your family! That’s what we’re here for!”

 

“Don’t give me that! Didn’t you need dad when....when _your_ brothers died? I’m with you all as much as I can, but I need someone who’s just there for _me_ sometimes!”

 

“You’re too young! I don’t care what happened out there; making a decision about the rest of your life isn’t something you can do on a whim!”

 

They were both crying, tears of frustration and anger, their cheeks a bright, violent shade of red.

 

“A whim? _A WHIM?_ I’ve known Hermione for years; she’s been my best friend, and yeah, we’ve had some rough times, but we also bring the best in each other out. I tried going with another girl, and it just didn’t wash. We’ve fought and hurt each other, but I know that at the end of the day, there’s no one else I’d rather be with. I was willing to die for her; don’t you think I’m willing to live for her, too? Maybe if we had gone about things the normal way, I wouldn’t be saying this for awhile yet. But I nearly lost her! And when I got her back, I knew I _never_ wanted to feel that way again! _She’s it for me. She’s the one.”_

 

“Even if all that is true, I still say that you’re--”

 

“Too young, Molly? Are you really going to sit there and say that? I didn’t realize I had married a hypocrite.” Arthur interjected sharply.

 

Molly gasped, swinging to face him, and his voice became more gentle now that he had her attention. He hadn’t meant that, at least not fully, but this was a losing battle. His wife had never let go of things she loved easily, but it was time that she let their son grow up. Or, rather, realize that he already had. This wasn’t a sulky boy arguing for a chocolate. This was a man who was making his own decisions, and while he had tried to accommodate his mother, he wasn’t going to back down.

 

“How old were we, Molly? Would you say that what we did was a mistake?” He asked, taking her hands between his.

 

“Of course not! But this is different!”

 

“Is it? They aren’t children anymore. They haven’t been for awhile now. They aren’t any different than we were; in fact, there are certain things that are very similar, wouldn’t you say?” He gave her a knowing look.

 

Molly cast her eyes to the floor. She couldn’t deny it. Maybe that’s why she was fighting so hard; There was a lot of her in Ron. She didn’t regret her choices, not at all; but she wanted more for her son. He should have the time to think things through. Hermione was a wonderful girl, and she would be more pleased than anyone for her to be the one that made her son happy. But she was afraid it was too soon, too rushed; things hadn’t always been easy for her and Arthur, so young to be balancing a job and growing family, and still finding time for themselves.

 

“But...”

 

“Sometimes the strongest flowers grow from the ashes, love. You know that.”

 

Damn him. He nearly always let her have her way, but when he said something in that gentle, firm tone, she just couldn’t seem to keep up the fight. 

 

Ron felt like now was a good time to jump in. “And it’s not like we’re going to get married in the next week. Or even the next year! Bloody hell, do you really think Hermione would get married before finishing school and finding a job? So you can relax a little; you aren’t going to have to start on the wedding invitations tonight.”

 

She gave a wet laugh. No, of course not. Ron might be impetuous at times, but he wasn’t a fool. And he was already trying to do things responsibly, just as she had always tried to teach him. And Hermione.....under any other circumstances, the idea of that girl rushing into something without analyzing it half to death would make her laugh. She still wasn’t happy about all of the goings on, but Hermione wasn’t a scarlet woman, leading her boy on. And she hadn’t missed the way she had looked at Ron over the years; the way the two of them bickered reminded her of herself and Arthur, back when they were starting out. 

 

A loud pop made them all jump, and suddenly, Harry and Hermione were standing in the middle of the kitchen. Hermione was a mess; Her hair looked like she had been caught in a wind storm, and her eyes were puffy and swollen, still wet and red from crying. Instantly, Ron was on his feet and at her side in two quick strides, pulling her into a tight hug which she didn’t hesitate to return. He nodded at Harry, who raised his eyebrows in question. Ron waggled his hand from side to side behind Hermione’s back. Harry patted her on the shoulder, then slid out of the kitchen, feeling uncomfortable and not wanting to intrude. He would go up and fill Ginny in.

 

The wool of Ron’s jumper was absorbing the tears that were on her cheeks, but he figured they were pretty even, since her hair was doing the same for his. She was trembling so hard that he could hear her teeth rattle, and he knew she would be having nightmares tonight. Well, she could have them in his room; he wasn’t going to let her hide in the bathroom like last time so she wouldn’t wake anyone, and if Harry didn’t like it, he could bugger off and find another room to sleep in. He pulled back, tilting her head so he could see her eyes.

 

“Don’t leave me like that. Ever.”

 

Words that could have been demanding, or an order for obedience, came across as what they were; a desperate plea. There was no mistaking it in the quiver in his voice, the way his pupils were dilated, his hands moving over her shoulders as if he was afraid she would disappear right before his eyes. All she could do was nod; the stress was more than she could take at the moment, and she wanted nothing more than to curl up with him and sleep the pain away. 

 

“Ron, please go upstairs. I need to have a word with Hermione.”

 

Instead of leaving, he gripped her tighter. Seeing her so upset made him angry all over again, and he glared at his mother, not moving an inch. Arthur stood up and pushed his chair under the table, coming over to lay his hand on Ron’s shoulder. 

 

“Come on, son. It’ll be alright.”

 

Still, Ron hesitated. He knew his dad wouldn’t lie, but he couldn’t just walk out on Hermione like this. He glanced back at his mum, who had stood as well. She looked tired, and far older than she should. The creases around her mouth and on her forehead were deeper, as if sadness had scraped along her face with its fingernails. She didn’t look like a woman up for a row, but could he risk it?

 

“Go on. I’ll be fine.”

 

Glancing down at her hoarse whisper, he saw that the shaking had lessened, though he could still feel small tremors. He didn’t know what to expect; anger, maybe, or fear that she would have to leave again. But she looked nearly as tired as his mum, and Ron knew that in some ways, she was just as broken. He wasn’t sure what was going to happen, but it wouldn’t be a fight. 

 

“If you’re sure. I’ll be in the other room.”

 

She gave him a small smile that was meant to be reassuring. “Don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere.”

 

He brushed his lips against her temple. “You can leave if you need to; just take me with you.”

 

With one last warning look at his mother, he followed his dad out of the kitchen, nervously glancing back over his shoulder. Arthur went to the cabinet, rooting around inside as Ron perched on the edge of the sofa, ready to run back at a moment's notice.

 

“I’d offer you a shot of Firewhiskey, but it looks like your brother has commandeered it for himself,” Arthur said, sitting down in the worn chair that had been ‘Dad’s chair’ for as long as Ron could remember. He didn’t need to ask which brother. The ticking of the clock was nothing compared to the sobbing he heard at night. 

 

He looked back at the kitchen.

 

“She’ll be fine, Ron. But your mum needs to make things right while she’s still able to think straight. She....she takes loss very hard. Always has. She never should’ve taken it out on Hermione, and she knows that.”

 

“What set her off in the first place? Hermione’s always polite to Mum, and I wasn’t even around,” Ron asked in confusion, shifting until the lumps in the sofa became more comfortably arranged.

 

Arthur paused, watching the logs in the fireplace spark and settle, the embers dancing as he searched for the right words. “Ron, family has always been an important thing for your mother. When her brothers died, it broke her heart. One minute she would be raging at the world, the next she would be so quiet and still that it was frightening. In a way, she never fully got over it. Not that that’s something anyone gets over, really. But it--and the rest of the war-- still affects her more than you know. And now.....well, her first instinct is to pull her family close and shut out the world.”

 

Ron could understand that. Through all the misery, he felt better when he knew everyone was at home, where he could see them. There was just one small problem.

 

“I get that, but what about Hermione? She’s family, or near enough.”

 

His father gave him a piercing look, the corner of his lips twitching in what would have turned into a smirk in happier times. “Yes, I’d say _very_ near.”

 

He could feel his ears turning red, and he coughed nervously. “It’s not like that!”

 

Arthur continued to look at him.

 

“Well, yeah, I mean, _some_ of it’s like that, but not all of it! I know Mum thinks all we do is mess about, but when my mind is all jumbled and tearing itself to pieces, Hermione’s the one who makes it quiet enough that I can think again. I can’t....I can’t fall apart in front of anyone else like I can with her. Nothing else can make me forget how fucked up everything is!” He shook his head, breathing hard. He needed to calm down; his dad hadn’t said anything wrong.

 

“I understand that. Your mum does too. In a way, I was her Hermione. And that’s part of the problem. Your mum loves Hermione, but she can also see that you’ve grown up; you’re not coming to Mum to make things better anymore. You’re living your life, and that means leaving your family and eventually making one of your own. One that she has been fairly sure for several years now would begin with a certain witch in the kitchen.”

 

For a few minutes, he was speechless. “That doesn’t make any sense! If she knew that, then she knows Hermione is family!”

 

Arthur shook his head with a sigh. “You’re missing the point. This isn’t about Hermione; it’s the timing. If this had happened any other time, she’d be thrilled. She’d hound you to death making sure you were chaperoned, but she’d be happy. But it happened now, and right now all she wants is for her children to be children; she wants to feel like she can keep you here where you’re safe. She wants you to need her. And Hermione’s being here makes it very clear that you aren’t a child.”

 

He loved his mum, he really did, but sometimes, he just didn’t get her. Did she really think that just because he was in a relationship with Hermione, that he was going to walk out the door and not come back? She was his mum, for Merlin’s sake! Of course he needed her! But he needed her to understand that he needed Hermione, too. They weren’t going to be rushing into anything. Realistically, he would probably be living here for at least another year. But the way she was acting, it was like she expected him to move across the world tomo--oh. Suddenly, he could understand her reaction to Australia a little better. He just hoped that things were going alright in the kitchen.....

 

He shouldn’t have worried. Both women were tired of fighting. Not with each other, of course; what had happened earlier could hardly be called a fight. But the past few years had been a constant war in one form or another; and now that the war was over, each felt that there was still a battle being fought in her own mind.

 

For the first time since returning from Hogwarts, Molly stopped and really looked at Hermione. Normally, she would have fussed over each one of them, not resting until she had checked them over; her maternal nature would allow nothing less. But she had been shattered, and after being sure that they were alive and would remain that way, the rest of the world had faded into the background as she poured over the broken pieces of her heart. It didn’t mean she loved them any less, but she simply had been incapable of taking care of anyone, when she couldn’t even take care of herself. Tonight had been the first meal that she had cooked, and even that had taken a lot out of her. 

 

What she saw made her suck in her breath. Even with her face puffy from crying, there was so disguising that the girl was far too thin, her clothes sagging where they should be pulled tighter. And this was after several weeks of good meals. Her hair was thinner as well, and not quite as bushy as it should be. When she brought a hand up to flick away a stray tear, she saw that the nails were thin and splitting, the cuticles ragged, with tiny flecks of dried blood. There were circles around her eyes, deep purple marks spelling out sleepless nights. Her eyes held a sad, haunted look, and Molly shuddered at the things she must have endured. And she knew that Hermione had been helping around the house, taking the burden from Fleur whenever she could. And, as much as she hated to admit it, she knew she had been there for Ron, putting his needs ahead of hers during a time when he needed her most. In some ways, it was her and Arthur all over again, and she loved Hermione for it as much as she feared what it could lead to. Grief was hard on any relationship, and for one so new, it was usually fatal. But then, it wasn’t really new at all, was it? It might be official now, but the framework had been building up for years. 

 

“Come have some tea, dear. I think we both need it.”

 

She picked up the still warm brown kettle, pouring steaming liquid into two dark orange mugs, setting one down in front of Hermione. She took her own, wrapping her hands around it for the warmth as she sat down across from the younger woman. 

 

“I have things I need to tell you, and they aren’t easy for me to say. You’ll find that I’m a lot like Ron. I can be stubborn, and when my temper is up, the things that come out of my mouth can be hurtful. Saying that I’m sorry doesn’t come naturally to me, but that’s what I am right now. I never should have said the things I did. If I had known about your parents.....”

 

Hermione shook her head. “You didn’t know, and you.....you aren’t feeling well. And I’m not family, so I shouldn’t have intruded.”

 

“No, no I’m not. But that’s a reason, and not an excuse. Just because I’m in pain, it doesn’t give me the right to inflict it on others, especially the ones who have done nothing to deserve it. And you must understand, that it wasn’t because I didn’t want you here. Just as I think of Harry as another son, having you around is like having another daughter. But a mother’s grief can be an ugly thing, one I hope you never feel yourself. I lost my son. I will never watch him get married, or hold his children in my arms. All I could think about, when I could think at all, was having my family around me. And then there was you; all I could see was how your own poor parents must be feeling, after not knowing if you were safe or not for so long. It didn’t seem fair that they had to miss their child when they didn’t have to anymore. So many parents and children have been lost to each other because of this war, and it made me angry that the three of you weren’t together, and I unfairly took that anger out on you.”

 

Hermione clutched at her mug, tears stinging the backs of her eyes. “I wanted to be! I did! But Ron was right when he said that I wasn’t in any shape to go yet; Some days just making it downstairs was hard, and I know I couldn’t concentrate enough to perform the spell to return their memories. And Ron needed me to be here, and I didn’t know how to leave him behind without hurting him more!”

 

“I know. And in some ways, I resented that. It’s not easy for a mother to watch her child grow up and replace her with another at the best of times, and these are far from the best of times.”

 

Leaning forward, Hermione earnestly said, “I’m not trying to replace you! I tried to leave, but Ron wouldn’t have stayed behind. Although I should be honest enough to say that I didn’t really want him to.”

 

Molly sighed, pushing a thick strand of hair that had slipped from the pins behind her ear. “No, he wouldn’t have. As much as I want him to be a little boy, he’s not. He’s grown into a man that I’m very proud of, although I wish he didn’t have to grow so soon. But he’s like me, in the way that war makes you realize the things that are most important. And like me, he’s willing to fight for it. The two of you are good for each other; I’ve thought that for years. I know that right now, I’m not being the mother that I should. I want to, but I simply can’t. I’m at the bottom of a deep pit, Hermione, and it’s going to take time for me to climb out of it. But you’ve always been a good girl, and I know that you’ll take care of my boy. Even if I were myself, he needs things right now that a mother can’t give, and I’m glad he has you. Take care of each other.”

 

Hermione had thought, when she agreed to come back, that she would be angry. Mrs. Weasley had always been so strong and confident, that it was hard to imagine her not being in control of any situation. But she knew from personal experience that just because you were strong, that didn’t save you from having to break down once and awhile. And knowing that she had just wanted a family to be whole and together when hers wasn’t, she couldn’t find it in her to be angry. She could tell that Mrs. Weasley was trying her best, that she was struggling to be as normal as possible. But Hermione couldn’t blame her, not when she wanted to scream half the time herself. As for she and Ron taking care of each other, that was all she wanted. She wanted to help him get to where he was healthy and happy again, and she wanted to let him do the same for her. 

 

A ginger head popped into the doorway, worried blue eyes going directly to her.

 

“It was quiet in here. Too quiet.”

 

Hermione caught Mrs. Weasley’s eye, and they both snorted. What had he expected?

 

“Yes, dear. In spite of my reaction earlier, I can handle things in a civilized manner when I need to.” Molly stood up, and braced her hand on the tabletop as her vision dimmed for a moment. She needed to lie down. She could feel the depression winding around her like living strands of yarn, tangling her thoughts. 

 

Arthur came in behind Ron, and she leaned on his arm, which he put around her shoulders. 

 

“Hermione, you’re more than welcome to stay here until your parents return. We can talk more later, if you need to. Now, it’s late, and I’m sure Ginny is up in her room waiting for you.”

 

Hermione blushed, catching the thinly disguised meaning; she was expected to sleep in the room she had been assigned. 

 

“Ron, you need to let her sleep. She’ll need all her rest for her visit with the Healers tomorrow,” she was keeping herself in check; there were a few things Ron had said earlier that they needed to talk about, but now wasn’t the time, when any more angry words could spark a fight that neither of them was up to.

 

Ron looked her over frantically. “Healers? Why does she need to see them? What’s wrong?”

 

Hermione was confused as well. “Honestly, I think I’ll be fine with a little more rest. I’m doing much better.”

 

Molly heard the lie in her voice. “Nonsense. You should have gone in days ago, and I won’t have you flitting off to Australia until you have a complete check up. After....well, I don’t know the details, but you need to make sure there aren’t going to be any long term effects that you’re unprepared for.”

 

Hermione swallowed. She had thought of that, but had been putting it off. “Yes, that would probably be best. Goodnight, Mrs. Weasley.”

 

Ron had thought of it as well, and the thought made him sick. He didn’t even want to imagine what those effects could be. It wasn’t lost on him that his mum had slipped in that bit about Australia; he could tell that it was one of those things that was best done without talking about. His dad had mentioned that it might go like that, and he was thankful. In return, he had promised to be discreet around his mum when it came to the more physical aspect of his relationship with Hermione. After a blessedly brief conversation about pregnancy and silencing charms, He had found himself drawn back to the kitchen. Things seemed to have worked out alright there, though he wasn’t stupid enough to think they were normal.

 

He watched his father support his mum as they walked to their room, and from behind, it was hard to tell which one was holding the other up. It may have been a bit of both. He glanced down at Hermione, and found that his arm had wrapped around her shoulder, with hers around his waist. And he realized, though not for the first time, that he wanted what his parents had; he wanted that with Hermione. Mum nagged at Dad, and Dad could be oblivious, and sometimes there was a right good row. But there had always been love there. They were there for each other through everything life had thrown at them, and it showed him that even though things weren’t always easy, that when people loved each other they were willing to work for it. 

 

“Ron? Are you going up yet?”

 

“Yeah, sorry. Was just thinking about something.”

Silently, they continued up the stairs, all the way up to Ginny’s floor. When Hermione stopped in front of the door, she was surprised when Ron tugged on her hand for her to follow.

 

“We can’t! You heard your mum, and anyway, Harry is still up there,” she whispered, not wanting to wake anyone.

“Trust me, it’s fine. Besides, we don’t have to, you know, do anything. I just want to have you close. And it wouldn’t be the first time Harry had to sleep in Bill’s room.”

 

Hermione worried her lower lip between her teeth. She didn’t want to go against his mother, but she didn’t want to be apart from him right now, either. “Fine, but just to sleep.”

 

Ron grinned. It still thrilled him that Hermione wanted to be with him as much as he wanted to be with her. They carefully negotiated the final flight of stairs, minding the squeaky boards. The door to Ron’s room was open, and they found that it was empty. There was a note on his pillow, which he picked up and skimmed; ‘Ron, decided to sleep in Bill’s room. Thought you two would like to be alone. Please keep crude banging sounds to a minimum, as my state of mental health is delicate, and could be shattered by the horrific mental images such sounds might inspire. No. Really. Use the damn Silencing Charm, mate.’

 

Quickly, he crumpled the letter into a ball and tossed it into the wastebasket. 

 

“Do I want to know what he said?”

 

“In the interest of peace, I’d say no. Just give his arm a good punch in the morning, and we’ll be even.”

 

Hermione laid her wand on the nightstand, then paused. “Drat, I don’t have anything to wear!”

 

“Hold on, you can wear something of mine; I’ll change in the hall.”

 

“Why? We’ve seen each other naked, so certainly we can change in the same room.”

 

He loved the girl, but she put too much faith in his restraint. And he really felt that at this point, begging wasn’t dignified. “Trust me, it’s better this way. Hold on.”

 

He rooted through the bottom drawer of the dresser, finding a yellow shirt that would be huge on Hermione, along with a package of boxers that his mum had bought, not realizing they were the wrong size. 

 

“Here, these should do. Call me when you’re dressed.”

She took them with a smile. She had already discovered she enjoyed wearing his things. “Suit yourself, but it really is fine for you to stay.”

 

Ron tossed a pair of pajama bottoms over his arm, then swooped down on her, his lips burning when they came in contact with hers. He waited until he had her moaning, before he pulled back, both of them flushed and breathing heavily.

 

“Lead me not into temptation, love.”

 

Hermione squeaked at the hungry tone of voice, and spun around to hide her blush. Maybe she had been hasty, saying she only wanted to sleep! She heard him laugh as he crossed the room and shut the door behind him, and she quickly changed into the clothes he had given her, then slid into bed, making sure she left him enough room.

 

“You can come in,” she called softly.

 

There was a shuffling sound, and Ron entered the room, closing the door and locking it behind him. He draped his jeans over his chair, and stood by the bed. “I could definitely get used to finding you here.”

 

Hermione grinned, looking up at him from under her lashes. “I could get used to being found here.”

 

She loved that, she thought as he crawled in next to her. She loved how they could laugh and flirt so easily one minute, and comfort and hold the other in the next. Just as she thought that, she felt Ron’s arm go around her waist, and she cuddled closer to his chest.

 

“So are you and Mum really alright?” He finally asked.

 

She considered that a moment. “Well, neither one of us are what you would call alright, but we aren’t upset with each other, if that’s what you mean. I was hurt when it happened, but now that I know that it wasn't me, I think I’ll be okay. None of us are at our best right now.”

 

That was true enough, but when he thought about what it must have felt like for her, and how he had felt when he heard she was gone.....he let out a pained grunt.

 

“Are you alright?” 

 

“‘M fine, my head just ached really bad for a minute, but it’s gone now.”

 

Hermione twisted her head to peer at his face in the moonlight. “Maybe you should see a Healer too.”

 

“No!” He said, so sharply that he felt her jerk in his arms. He shook his head to clear it. “Sorry. But I’m fine, just need to eat more. It’ll be hard, I know, but I’ll force myself.”

 

She relaxed back into him with a giggle. “Alright, but go in if you start feeling bad.”

 

“Hmm.”

 

They were quiet, hands lazily stroking arms and backs, lips coming together briefly for small kisses. They both knew things wouldn’t go any farther tonight, and that was fine. Right now, they just wanted to enjoy the comfort of being close.

 

“Hermione? Have you thought about when you want to leave?” He finally asked.

 

Her face scrunched in thought. “I think next week. I’ve been getting things ready--”

 

“Of course you have.”

 

“And there should be no problem, except we still need to tell your parents if you’re planning on coming.”

 

The mattress protested as he raised himself up. “Of course I am! And I already told them. Mum went up like a firecracker, but Dad got her calmed back down. She’s not too keen on the idea of us being alone together, but I think when I made it clear that we would at least wait to get back before we got married, she was better about it.”

 

“What? Married? Now? Us?” Hermione rambled like a choked up parrot.

 

Ron flushed. Damn, that had come out wrong. “No! Not Married! Not for years yet!”

 

The way his voice squeaked out as he rushed to reassure her made her giggle, and then soften at his words. “Not for years yet?”

 

He flopped onto his stomach, burrowing his head under his pillow. “That wasn’t supposed to happen! We were going to date like normal people, you would finish school because you’re Hermione, I wouldn’t because I’m not, we would both get jobs, and in a couple of years when I’d saved up for a decent ring, I’d pop the question and hope that you hadn’t recovered from whatever head injury you received that made you go with me in the first place.”

 

Aside from the whining voice, she was touched by his words. She had always hoped that things would lead to something permanent with him, and she was glad to see that he was on the same page. 

 

“That sounds suspiciously like a plan, with a general timeframe as well.”

 

He poked his head out from under the pillow, looking like a lumpy turtle. “Don’t tease me. It’s not my fault your freakish habits have worn off on me.”

 

Glaring, she snaked her hand between them to pinch his nipple.

 

“Fuck! Dammit, Hermione, play fair!” He yelped, nearly falling off the bed.

 

She sniffed. “That’s what you deserve for calling me freakish during what basically amounts to a proposal.”

 

“I didn’t call you freakish, just your habits.”

 

“Did you mean it?”

 

“Well, freakish may have been a little strong, but--”

 

“Not that! I mean, what you said about....” She trailed off, suddenly unsure.

 

“What? Oh. Oh!”

 

Well, that wasn’t reassuring, she thought. The bed shifted as he moved around, and she suddenly found herself looking up at him as he hovered over her, a serious expression on his face.

 

“I reckon you already know I’m mad about you. And we have plenty of time now to do things right. But someday, when we’re ready, I plan on asking you to marry me.”

 

Hermione felt tears leaking from the corners of her eyes, and for once, they were happy tears, something she hadn’t experienced for a very long time. She raised her arms, twining them around his neck. “Someday, when we’re ready, I plan on saying yes.”

 

The grin that lit up his face at her words was worth it; she still had so much healing to do, and there were still matters of everyday life that they would have to navigate, but she knew, in the end, that they could get through it. It wouldn’t be easy, but it would be very, very worth it.

 

Ron let himself be pulled down into a deep kiss, his arms braced by her head so he didn’t crush her. Her kisses wouldn’t bring Fred back, and the sound of the clock still gnawed at his heart. But there was hope now, reminding that there was still good to be had in life. Every time he started to forget, she was there, reminding him. As long as he had that, then he felt like anything was possible.

 

“You sure you still want to just sleep?”

“Nice try, Ron.”

 

Well, almost anything. He supposed there were limits to his luck.

 

“Once we’re in Australia, however, is another matter completely,” she whispered in his ear.

 

He knew he couldn’t escape the pain of his loss, and he knew that both of them had a long way to go before they were anything like alright. But here, like this, while they weren’t out of the darkness yet, he saw that the future was bright with possibilities.

 

All they had to do was wait for them to bloom.


End file.
